Lover, You Should've Come Over
by DarknessSharedByTwo
Summary: Threeshot of the "lonely night" implied by the Shadow Man in Trust No 1. Spoilers for Millennium, Trust No 1, FTF, bits of seasons 5-7. This is one of several of my versions of headcannon, and I think the episodes following Millennium have a quality to them that makes it hard to dispute. MSR, a little angsty, mostly fluffy. UPDATE: Now with 200% more sexy-fun-time!
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Two-parter of the "lonely night" implied by the Shadow Man in _Trust No 1_. Pretty much fluff, with a twinge of angst in the beginning. Spoilers for _Millennium_ and _Trust No 1_, and a teensy bit of _Fight the Future _and bits of seasons 5-6. This is one of several of my versions of headcannon, and I think the episodes following _Millennium_ have a quality to them that makes it hard to dispute it. Especially a few little moments in _Rush_. **

**A/N: I'd always meant to write something for this, but never did. I was inspired by Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over", which I highly recommend, and the cover image of this fic. The long lines denote a change in perspective between Mulder and Scully, or to the omniscient narrator. My goal is for it to be fairly self-explanatory who is narrating, and hopefully I've succeeded.**

**Please read and review. And enjoy!**

**(Obvious disclaimer: I don't own them.)**

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><p><strong>PART 1.<strong>

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><p><em>Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners<br>Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water  
>And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong<br>But tonight you're on my mind so you never know_

_When I'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it_  
><em>Where are you tonight, child you know how much I need it<em>  
><em>Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run<em>

_Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun_  
><em>And much too blind to see the damage he's done<em>  
><em>Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one<em>

_So I'll wait for you... and I'll burn_  
><em>Will I ever see your sweet return<em>  
><em>Oh will I ever learn<em>

_Oh lover, you should've come over_  
><em>'Cause it's not too late<em>

_Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in_  
><em>Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him<em>  
><em>My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come<em>

_It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder_  
><em>It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her<em>  
><em>It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter<em>  
><em>It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever<em>

_Well maybe I'm just too young_  
><em>To keep good love from going wrong<em>

_Oh... lover, you should've come over_  
><em>'Cause it's not too late<em>

_~Jeff Buckley, "Lover, You Should've Come Over"_

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><p><strong>DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1, 2000**

**10:37 AM**

Dana Scully stirred in her bed, the beginnings of consciousness slowly coming to her as she began to mentally sort out whether to begin the slow process of opening her eyes and crawling out of bed, or to cling to her oversized pillow and remain under her down comforter for just a little while longer. The haze of memory from the last few days started to come back to her, as she realized that moving her body amplified her soreness. She had fared better than her partner, however, as he had ended up with a nasty gash on his upper arm. Her partner… Mulder…

_Oh!_ Her eyes opened wide when she finally remembered what had happened at the hospital. She smiled briefly, remembering the way her accelerated heartbeat pounded in her chest while he leaned in close to her, the feel of his lips against her own when they finally made contact. It was surreal. She supposed deep down, she knew she wanted it, but always the professional, would never allow herself to fully consider it, until it just… happened. That's when her smile faded. Surely she had read too much into it. He hadn't kissed her again—not when she smiled and told him "Goodnight Mulder" sweetly when she dropped him off at his car. He'd just nodded, said a quick "goodnight" with what looked like a wistful smile, got in, and drove away. She supposed now, that what happened was a one-time thing—an appropriate, friendly gesture, one permitted by tradition.

Groaning, she sat up in bed and committed herself to enjoying her day off, and not thinking about how she was spending yet another weekend alone. She swung her tired legs to the floor and plodded to the bathroom to draw up a hot bubble bath, grabbing her cell phone from the dresser along the way. At the very least, she would relax.

* * *

><p><strong>FOX MULDER RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1**

**11:21 AM**

_Pick up, Scully_, he thought with impatience as he listened to the fourth ring. Just when he was about to give up, he heard a click, a little splash of water, and a mumbled "_Hey Mulder_."

"Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?" He hoped he hadn't—he needed her expert advice, and he sure wouldn't mind hearing her voice.

"_No, not really. I was just hoping this bubble bath would help ease some of my sore muscles. How about you? Are you feeling okay?_"

"Scully, I feel like I got hit by a bus full of shambling corpses. I can barely move. Speaking of which… I'm having trouble dealing with this gash on my arm. I know it's New Year's day and all, but I was hoping you wouldn't mind coming by to… doctor me up in a little while." He said this last bit with a waggle of his eyebrows and a playfulness of tone that he knew wouldn't be lost on her, even if he wouldn't let his own thoughts actually wander to that place right now. She was so used to them by now that she would all but ignore them.

"_Mulder—I…_" She paused. Crap, maybe she had plans. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"I'm sorry Scully, I should have asked if you had plans. I didn't mean to presume that you didn't. Look, if you've got something going on, I can manage on my own. You may just have your work cut out for you on Monday."

"_Oh!_ _No Mulder—it's not that at all. I was just thinking..._" Huh, she was thinking. Wait, did he actually manage to trip up the ever cool and collected Agent Scully with that doctoring comment? Before he could ponder that line of thought too long, she continued. "_Sure, I can stop by this afternoon and check your dressings. How's the pain?_"

He groaned as he took his arm out of the sling he'd been given at the hospital. Moving his sore arm in its socket hurt more than the gash. "Actually, not too bad with these Lortab they gave me."

"_Go easy on those, Mulder. Only take them if you really need them._" Of course she would say that. But he actually hated those pills—they always managed to make him feel dizzy and nauseous, and he'd honestly rather experience the pain. "_So, I guess I can be at your place in about an hour, if that's ok with you._"

"Sure Scully, sounds great. Oh, hey. Thanks. For everything."

"_You don't have to thank me. It's what I do. See you soon._"

He sighed as he tossed his phone onto the coffee table. He really wished he had been able to overcome his nerves last night and invite her over, but he was too afraid of what a rejection would have done to him. He knew the only way he'd be able to actually make the move was if he could excuse himself out of it by way of friendship or tradition. But truthfully, he'd wanted to take her in his arms—correction, _arm_—right in that hospital lobby and kiss her as if it were the last night of their lives. In the end, though, he'd restrained himself. He wanted to make it known that he was open to the possibility, but he wanted to be sure she really wanted it. That way there was an easy, not too awkward way out if she didn't feel the same. He knew it was one of the better decisions he'd made, but there was still a niggling of doubt that said she had misread his intentions.

* * *

><p><strong>FOX MULDER RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1, 2000**

**12:32 PM**

She stood at the door of Apartment #42 in a comfy pair of jeans, a fitted light green sweater, and a tailored black jacket with her basket of medical supplies—gauze, absorbent padding, medical tape, antiseptic wipes, various kind of bandages, antibiotic ointment, latex gloves, tweezers, and a small pair of scissors. Ever prepared, she kept a spare kit in her car for just such a need. Conspicuously poking up out of the basket was a small package wrapped in gold foil paper, adorned with a glittering red bow. Taking a quick deep breath, she reached up and knocked. She was quickly greeted with a smile, and ushered into his quirky apartment.

"Aww, you shouldn't have, Scully!" He eyed the gift, grinning from ear to ear.

"What makes you think this is for you?" she countered. She couldn't see it herself, but her eyes sparkled with mischief, giving away her lie.

"And what makes you think this," he paused to pull out a larger flat box, covered in a silly reindeer print, "is for you?"

"Because it says, 'To Scully' on it." She grinned smugly, and set her basket of supplies down on the kitchen table.

"Touché." He handed her the larger box, and looked expectantly at the small, CD-sized package. Relenting, she handed it to him, and began to tear into her own gift.

Unwrapping the layer of decorative paper with care, as she did most things, she arrived at an unmarked white box, taped at two ends. She carefully began to tear the tape off when Mulder excitedly yipped.

"Scully! This is great! I've always meant to listen to this CD, but I never got around to buying it. The man can sing." Scully smiled shyly, shrugging. For some reason, they could talk about the great mysteries of life, the universe, and everything, but had never spent time talking about music. Her brother, Charlie had mailed her the same Jeff Buckley CD for her for Christmas a couple of years ago—one of the years he couldn't make it to the family gathering. She liked it so much she decided to buy another copy for Mulder, but wasn't even sure what kind of music he liked. "Charlie got it for me a few years back, and since I liked it so much I thought you might enjoy it, too."

"Thanks, Scully." With that he tore into the clear plastic, opened the jewel case, and pulled out the inner booklet, flipping through the pages quickly before returning his attention to her.

She pulled at the last remaining piece of tape, opened the box, and unfolded the tissue paper to find a beautiful mottled peach colored crocheted sweater. She fingered the open shell pattern, open-mouthed, before pulling the sweater from the box and holding it up to eye level. "Mulder, this is beautiful! I love it. Thank you."

"It's hand knitted. I picked it up in one of the little artsy shops downtown last week. I saw it and thought of you."

"Thank you. I'll make sure and wear it sometime soon." He was smiling awkwardly and only barely meeting her eyes with his own. Fox William Mulder was being shy around her—mark this day on the calendar. She only briefly feared that he was worried he had offended her in some way last night, or that he felt he had made a mistake, before she cleared her throat and resigned herself to change the subject entirely.

"Ok, let's get down to business. Have you changed your bandages yet?"

He looked at her sheepishly and shook his head 'no'. "I was, ah…. waiting for you. I should be a pro at this by now, but I'm always afraid that I'll pull it off the wrong way and take my skin with it." His face contorted with disgust, and he shook his head to shake off the thought.

"Ok, good. You probably only need to change it once a day. Let me get this off, then I can clean it off for you, or you can jump in the shower." She stepped into the kitchen to wash her hands, then came around to his side and began to tug gently at the bandage, as he winced at the pull of the tape on his arm hair.

He gave out an exasperated groan. "Just rip it off in one go! This is torture." He was looking anywhere but his arm. Years in the FBI, and he still shuddered at the sight of his own blood.

"Not a chance. Unless you want me to rip your skin off with it." She caught his eyes with a stern look. He gave a slight pout, but nodded and looked away again.

Once the bandage was off, she went back to the kitchen to wash up, then popped on a pair of gloves. Then she was able to inspect the wound, which was surprisingly clean and healing up rapidly. Even her prodding barely produced a flinch out of him.

"Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say this gash is days old. You might even be able to get those stitches out in a couple of days. Why don't you hop in the shower? I'll re-bandage it when you get out. Just lightly wash the affected area with soap and water. Don't scrub."

"Ok, doc." He stood up slowly, no doubt sore from his encounter the previous day, and sauntered towards the bedroom, attempting to shed his T-shirt along the way, getting hit halfway off before realizing that he would have to be more careful not to aggravate his wound. She rushed to his side to help peel the shirt over his injured arm, trying not to eye his shirtless form too closely. With that, she shoved him gently towards the shower, the contact with his bare skin sending a shiver through her fingers.

* * *

><p>A cold shower was what he needed. He needed to keep his mind off his partner until she sorted out or gave him some indication of what she wanted. His usually keen insights were failing him today. He couldn't tell if she was acting awkward because she was uncomfortable with what he had done, or if she was just nervous and jittery because she enjoyed it and was expecting more. He had to figure out a way to let her know that she needed to make the next move, but he didn't know how.<p>

Opting for a hot shower instead, he hoped it would soothe his soreness. He stood under the shower spray for some time before soaping, both to contemplate his next move, and to let the liquid heat penetrate his tired muscles. When he finally chanced a look at his wound, the sight barely registered instead of making him gag. She was right. It looked as if new skin was already growing, and it actually didn't look half bad. He shrugged before rubbing a bit of soap on it and rinsing it as per doctor's orders, then turning off the tap.

He had decided on a course of action, and planned to follow it.

* * *

><p>Scully waited patiently at the kitchen table as the shower ran, preparing a few items that would be needed to treat the injury. Still looking to fill time, she picked up the CD booklet that he had left on the table to flip through. She hadn't looked at it since she'd first received the CD, but as soon as she glanced through the lyrics, the songs played through her mind as if they were playing through the air.<p>

Soon, Mulder appeared in his bedroom doorway, sporting a pair of jeans and no shirt. She looked away awkwardly, hoping he wouldn't notice her distraction. She instead reached for the gauze before meeting his eyes and directing him to sit.

She swiftly bandaged him up, using only a small piece of gauze and a few pieces of tape to hold it in place. She noticed that he even kept from wincing while she applied the ointment—clearly he was feeling better. "Can you move your shoulder okay?"

He tested the movement of his shoulder by rolling it in its socket, and in its final movement, landing his arm around Scully. He quickly brushed his lips against her cheek and whispering a quick "yep, thanks" into her ear before removing his arm from her shoulders. In that instant Scully froze, unable to react. He had kissed her forehead or check plenty of times—why did this feel so different? Or was it her reaction that was different? Why was she having so much trouble reading him today? Surely her feelings were clouding her judgment, and she hope she wasn't royally fucking this friendship up by acting strangely.

* * *

><p>Shit. She had frozen up. This delusion really needed to stop. By now he was sure that he had made a mistake in thinking she would be open to this change in their relationship. But that was okay. It wasn't too late to save their friendship. He could live with that, as long as he got to keep her in his life. It wasn't too late to pretend that this is what friends do for each other.<p>

He cleared his throat. "Hey Scully, thanks for coming over and taking care of this for me. I really appreciate it. Why don't you go home and enjoy your day off?" He tried to mask the pain in his words with a smile of appreciation. A proper, friendly smile, that friends give to one another after they help each other out of a jam. Although, this time, she had done all the helping.

"Yeah, I uh…" She looked away for a moment before stammering. "I… need to do some laundry, and some cleaning. Try not to run in to any more zombies, okay?" She gave a tight-lipped smile, looking as if it were a real chore to keep the mood light.

"Yeah, I'll try." He smiled, probably somewhat sadly, he supposed, and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. Maybe in a few days this uncomfortable situation will have passed, and they would go back to the way things were. He hoped they could do that.

She packed up her supplies and he ushered her to the door, where he told her goodbye, and she left him standing there alone. Again.

* * *

><p>As soon as the door closed, Scully leaned back silently against the door, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, steeling herself before she lost her composure. On the other side, Mulder put his fists up against the door, wincing both at the soreness in his body, and the pain in his heart.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Will update with Part 2 very soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary: Two-parter of the "lonely night" implied by the Shadow Man in _Trust No 1_. Pretty much fluff, with a twinge of angst in the beginning. Spoilers for _Millennium_ and _Trust No 1_, and a teensy bit of _Fight the Future _and bits of seasons 5-6. This is one of several of my versions of headcannon, and I think the episodes following _Millennium_ have a quality to them that makes it hard to dispute it. Especially a few little moments in _Rush_. **

**A/N: I'd always meant to write something for this, but never did. I was inspired by Jeff Buckley's "Lover, You Should've Come Over", which I highly recommend, and the cover image of this fic. The long lines denote a change in perspective between Mulder and Scully, or to the omniscient narrator. My goal is for it to be fairly self-explanatory who is narrating, and hopefully I've succeeded.**

**Please read and review. And enjoy!**

**(Obvious disclaimer: I don't own them.)**

* * *

><p><strong>PART 2.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>FOX MULDER RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1, 2000**

**5:17 PM**

He had spent the majority of the afternoon watching some of his collection of old movies and ignoring the nagging in the back of his brain to work on the case report. He had begun to feel better about the events of the last couple of days, and had even become hopeful that things could go back to the way they were between he and Scully. While still somewhat pained over the memory, curiosity got the better of him as he thought of her gift to him. Reluctantly, he took the disk from the kitchen table and placed it in the CD player. He pulled a beer from the fridge, popped it open, and sank into the worn leather cushions of the sofa as the sounds of a jangly guitar, jazzy drumming, and the crooning male voice echoed throughout the lonely apartment.

Thirty seconds turned to thirty minutes as the music seeped into his broken and weary spirit. It must have touched Scully in some way, too, for her to have recognized him in it. Then, as the sounds of an accordion flooded the room, and the lyrics began to pour in, he could no longer hold back the surge of his emotions.

_When I'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it  
>Where are you tonight, child you know how much I need it<br>Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run  
><em>

_Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun  
>And much too blind to see the damage he's done<br>Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one_

As the song continued, he decided that it wasn't too late. He had to call her and confess everything. The weight of his feelings was crushing him, and even if he was rejected, it would be in the open, and they could deal with whatever fallout might happen honestly. He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands over his face, and finally reached for his phone. Before his shaking fingers could dial, the screen came alive with green light illuminating the pattern of her name.

* * *

><p><strong>DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1, 2000**

**5:44 PM**

She had spent the afternoon buzzing around the apartment, cleaning and doing laundry—she had even prepared a veggie lasagna for the weekend and next week's lunch that was baking in the oven right now—anything to keep her mind off of her hurt feelings. By all accounts, she had no right to be hurt. She was convinced that nothing in his actions had proven that he meant to take things any further than what already was. His friendship was something she cherished, yet she couldn't push the doubt and wonder of the unexplored territory away. There was a time, not so long ago, in his hallway, that she would have thought that they would have been making a huge mistake. She was secretly thankful for that bee, because she knew that circumstances at that time were complicated, and that without some sort of resolution of where she stood with him, where she stood with the X-Files, where she stood next to Agent Fowley, the added complexity of a step neither of them were prepared for could have broken them. But it didn't, and they were fine. Everything was resolved. They had each other, and they had their work. Everything was fine. It was goddamn, fucking wonderful.

She flung her cleaning rag across the room and flopped belly first onto her sofa cushions. Rolling over onto her back, she gripped her hair with her frustrated fingers before getting up to pace the room. Another weekend evening alone. Alone, when what she really wanted was to be curled up with her partner in her bed. She had to stop acting like a schoolgirl, and do something about it. She could live with knowing that he wasn't interested in taking their relationship further. She wouldn't be happy, but she could find a way to deal with it. She could _not_ live with not knowing. It was eating at her, and it was not healthy.

Before she lost her nerve, she dialed his number. Before even the first ring had ended, his anxious voice spoke in her ear, "_Scully… we have to talk about this._"

"Mulder, I know." She racked her brain for words. Why were they so hard to form? "Um, ,I…" God, _words_, Scully! "Could you come over? I think we should talk in person." There they were.

"_I think that would be best. How long should I give you?_"

"Thirty minutes?" Would that give her enough time to clean up? "Well, maybe 45. Oh, hey. I have some lasagna in the oven if you're hungry."

"_Sure, Scully._"

* * *

><p><strong>DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1, 2000**

**6:43 PM**

He stood apprehensively at the door of her apartment, exhaling the deep breath he had been holding since turning the corner into her hallway. Rather than using his spare key, he decided to raise his fist and rap his knuckles on the door instead. He listened as the muffled commotion on the other side became the click of a deadbolt unlocking. The door swung open, revealing his partner bathed in the soft glow of lamp light. He noticed right away that she was wearing the sweater he'd bought for her—the open knit revealing the ivory skin of her arms and shoulders, the deep 'v' of the neckline exposing a matching camisole and a hint of cleavage behind it. Trying to avoid staring, he looked up at her face and noticed something different. Perhaps a touch more makeup than she usually wore, and a bit more wave in her fiery copper hair. Suddenly, he was forced to reevaluate the perception he had of how the evening might turn out, after spending the last half-hour preparing himself for rejection.

"So… I didn't run in to any corpses on the way," he finally said, jamming his hands into the pockets of his dark wash jeans, and flashing an awkward smile. She exhaled a small chuckle and threw a toothy grin back at him.

"Sorry—come in. I just took the lasagna out of the oven," she said, pulling him into the room by the arm and closing the door behind him

"It smells great," he said sincerely, as he draped his coat over one of the kitchen chairs and made his way into the kitchen where the hot food was waiting. "You aren't going to trick me into eating vegetables, are you, Scully?"

She raised her eyebrows while her eyes glittered defiantly. "It's no trick if you know they're there." He chewed on his lip for a moment before she clarified. "It's my mom's recipe, and it's got enough fat calories to have me running an extra 5 miles tomorrow."

She shoved him out of the way with her hip and piled a large piece on one plate and a slightly smaller one on the other, pushing the plate with the larger piece toward him. Even though he was sure he spotted a piece of zucchini, it really did look good. "I do love your mother's cooking. Got anything to drink?"

"Well, I have wine—a Pinot Noir and a Sauvignon Blanc." She stood on her tiptoes and reached up to pull the two bottles down, her sweater rising up above the band of her low slung jeans, revealing a glimpse of her slender midriff. This time, he couldn't resist staring for a brief moment.

"Alright, let's class it up! Pinot," he replied enthusiastically before she was able to turn back to him and catch him taking a peek. "It will pair well with the red sauce in this lasagna."

She set both bottles down on the table and raised a suspicious eyebrow at him. "Mulder, since when do you know anything about wine pairings?"

"Scully! You wound me." He made a wide-eyed pouty face that he hoped looked cute to her. "I learned more at Oxford than psychology, you know."

She chuckled outright this time before smiling, shaking her head, and uncorking the bottle. He reached up to the cabinet where she kept her wine glasses, and hoped he surprised her by pulling down two glasses specific to the Pinot they were drinking. That earned him another raised eyebrow and an "I'm impressed" comment. He took the bottle from her hands, brushing his fingertips over hers for a little more time than was necessary, and poured two perfect glasses—drip free—and waggled his eyebrows smugly before taking the two glasses and the bottle back to the table. "See, I can do classy. I just typically choose not to." This earned him a genuine, close-mouthed Scully smile, which made his breath hitch for just a moment. She followed shortly with the two plates and placed them at the table she had already set.

Before he sat, he walked over to her CD collection in the corner of her living room, hoping to spy the item of his choice. He found it quickly—it was at the top of the pile sitting next to the CD player, rather than tucked neatly in the cabinet with the others. This indicated that it had recently been sought out. He put Jeff Buckley's album into the player, pressed play, and adjusted the volume to a comfortable volume.

"I had a feeling you'd do that," she called to him from the table where she sat patiently.

He walked back to the table and sat down, shrugging. "Yeah, I really like it. I only listened through it one time, though, and wanted to hear it again."

"Hey, let's eat up before it gets cold." Polite as ever, she waited on him before she started eating.

* * *

><p>She was typically pretty good at masking her emotions, and, despite her nerves, she was managing pretty well tonight. They both quickly devoured the lasagna—she had only eaten a piece of toast and a cup of yogurt this morning, and had been running around the apartment all day, so she was famished. Conversation was infrequent while they ate, mostly just murmurs of approval from Mulder. They both seemed content to enjoy the food, wine, and music without talking—perhaps it was to put off the inevitable awkward conversation a little longer. It was amazing how even as anxious as she felt, how comfortable this all was, how much she enjoyed just sitting here with him in mostly silence. Before she knew it, she had polished off the entire glass of wine, and Mulder wasn't far behind her.<p>

She eyed the empty plates . "Do you want any more?"

"No, thanks Scully—that piece you gave me was massive. It was really good—thanks for feeding me." He smiled at her as she rose from the table with their empty plates to rinse the residue from them before placing them in the dishwasher.

Mulder was on his best behavior tonight, creeping into the kitchen to help her clean up. She knew he had a fantastic memory, but it still surprised her that he knew exactly where she kept the aluminum foil. Before long, the lasagna was put away in the fridge, and the dishes were in their correct places. The sounds of the beginning of one of her favorite songs from the album floated into the kitchen, only barely audible over the noisy purr of the dishwasher.

_Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners  
>Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water<br>And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong  
>But tonight you're on my mind so you never know<em>

She hadn't realized that her thoughts had meandered far beyond the present, until she felt his hand on hers, pulling her towards the living room. "Care to dance?" he asked sweetly as they reached the open area of the living room. Without speaking, she placed her right hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer to her. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."

_So I'll wait for you... and I'll burn  
>Will I ever see your sweet return<br>Oh will I ever learn_

_Oh lover, you should've come over  
>'Cause it's not too late<em>

They swayed evenly to the rhythm for a few long moments before Scully pressed her head against his strong chest, tucked under his chin, and his arm hooked around her back to her waist, pressing her even closer to him.

_Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in  
>Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him<br>My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come _

Still locked in his embrace, her mind returned to the unspoken conversation that they were supposed to have. "Why'd you do it?" She blurted out the question before she could talk herself out of it, releasing from him just enough to implore him with her eyes.

_It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder_

"Why do you think?" he said simply. She honestly didn't know.

_It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her_

"Mulder, I need to know. Why?" Her voice escalated in pitch and volume. She was begging him to tell her now.

_It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter_

"Why did you let me?" Both of his eyebrows raised. An honest question.

_It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever_

She was at a loss for words. She wasn't ready to say aloud what she thought she felt. She wasn't even sure if she would allow herself to feel it yet. "I… I don't know," she stammered. She knew one thing, though—she wanted it to happen again.

_Well maybe I'm just too young  
>To keep good love from going wrong<br>_

Before she could react, his eyes dropped to his feet and his mouth pursed before pulling away. "I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean for this to come between—"

_Oh... lover, you should've come over  
>'Cause it's not too late<em>

Before he could say another word, she reached her fingers up and pulled his face towards hers, crashing her lips onto his with the passion of six years of longing, demanding for him to understand—but his lips and his body did not react. Her acid tears threatened to spill as she pulled herself away from him.

* * *

><p>He couldn't react fast enough—his shock at her lips on his momentarily stunned him. As she pulled away, his head tilted to the side, dark eyebrows raised in confusion. "I thought you didn't…" He couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes bored into hers, begging them to study them, rather than the floor. When they finally did, he saw the flood of unshed tears. <em>No Scully—don't cry. We want the same thing.<em>

"Hey," he cooed, pushing back a section of her wavy hair and smoothing it against her head. Keeping his had in place and raking his fingers through the hair it touched, her pulled her to him, pressing his lips against her soft pillows—gently at first, relishing in the powerful sensation of so light a touch.

It was she who deepened the kiss, her need apparent. Rising to her toes, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, fingers gently tugging at his short hair, nails skimming the back of his skull, sending tingling waves of current down his spine. He moved his free hand from its place on her upper arm to wrap fully around her small waist, pressing her belly into his. Feeling her gasp into his mouth, she broke contact with his mouth momentarily before hungrily resuming her exploration.

With gentle pressure, his tongue pushed hers out of his own mouth and into hers. He wanted to explore everything about this woman that he didn't already know, to learn every secret crevice on, or in, her body that made her writhe, cry out, moan, or twitch; every secret place in her brilliant mind that made her smirk, giggle, raise an eyebrow, or beam. He even wanted to know the secret things that would make her voice crack or raise in anger, her hands fly up in frustration, or her heart break, so he could do his damnedest to keep her from them.

When she pulled away, gasping for breath, he saw something in her eyes. Desire. But there was something else beneath it—was it desperation? Loneliness? He was afraid of that something. After staring for a long moment, she finally whispered. "Stay here tonight." Phrased as a command, but the shaky edge made it sound more like a plea.

"Is this what you want, Dana?" The use of her first name softened her expression. "Are you sure?" His fingers stroked her hair absently, an effect of his worry of her unspoken thoughts.

"Completely. I've wanted it for a while now." She was staring at him with wet, wide eyes, and appeared to swallow a lump in her throat. "Do you?" Her question escaped her lips with a breathy hush, as the inner corners of her eyebrows crept up into the center of her forehead.

"God, yes." His fingers twisted further into her hair. She exhaled sharply, breaking out into a relieved smile, the fear and desperation vanished. He chuckled, his worry gone, too as he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips firmly to hers.

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><p>She had said it. There was no taking it back now. No pretending the ache in her heart was real. No way to hide her disappointment if he refused.<p>

"Do you?" She knew her fear of rejection was written all over her face, and she felt as if it were impossible for him not to hear the heavy beating of her heart, even though her science told her it was impossible at this proximity.

"God, yes." The weight of six and a half years of dancing around each other, pretending their desires weren't real, was lifted as his lips descended once more. She chuckled between fervent kisses and pulled their tangled embrace towards the bedroom.

She was unable to quantify, name, or understand her feelings right now—she just knew that she was fascinated by learning to explore this new aspect of their relationship, whatever it was or could become. Tonight, she wanted to forget work, forget conspiracies, forget aliens, forget bureaucracy, forget science, forget religion, forget the paranormal, and just be a woman—to touch and to be touched.

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><p>Grand illusions of sweeping, perfectly timed lovemaking would not be theirs this time; the awkwardness of first-time lovers would win out. Clumsy limbs, uncooperative clothing, awkward laughs, would predominate as they undressed each other. Too-long stares and self-conscious smiles would be given as they stood naked before one another. Exploratory touches would enact reactions of pleasure, but not before probing too gently or too harshly first. Gratification would come to one first, then the other, and it would come quicker than either had planned. But it would be theirs. And in its strangeness and inelegance, they found perfection. And in time they would come to know the other's body as they did their own.<p>

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><p><strong>AN: I was thinking about adding a Part 3. Anyone interested? Should I do it?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I decided that Part 3 needed to happen. I couldn't leave ALL the juicy details out. So for the most part, this is just a big, happy, smutty pile of our favorite agents being sexy and adorable together (at least I hope I've succeeded in doing that). ******I try to keep it somewhat artistic in its smut, but you know... it is what it is. **So there you have it. There are a****** few new spoilers from throughout the series up to season 6-7 and a teensy-weensy one from IWTB, but nothing major, so if you catch them, you catch them. **There may even a Part 4 later, if I get inspired again. But don't worry, Part 3 will have an ending, so even if I never do write the last bit, this will stand on its own.**

**Please read and review. And enjoy part 3!**

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><p><strong>PART 3.<strong>

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><p><strong>DANA SCULLY RESIDENCE<strong>

**JANUARY 1, 2000**

**8:08 PM**

It had been a couple of years since she had been touched by a man, the last time very nearly ending in a nightmare. Still, the swiftness and intensity with which her orgasm arrived surprised her. Through trial-and-error, Mulder had managed to find many of her most sensitive areas, some more obvious than others. Though she touched herself from time to time—surely to the dismay of the mostly forgotten rigid Catholic part of her psyche, but not to the overwhelming majority that allowed herself a liberal adaptation of dogma—she had nearly forgotten just how sensitive her breasts were. Of course, he gravitated to them almost immediately—boys will be boys—and discovered, after a few attempts, the sweet spot of pressure that made her gasp with pleasure. She wondered then if he would be able to bring her to the edge and over the cliff just by that touch alone. And she believed that he could. So, not wanting to spoil the moment, she had to guide his fingers and mouth away.

He found a few more places then: the area just below the small of her back, a bit lower than the usual spot his hand rested; the area of delicate skin below and behind her earlobe; her scalp, when he tugged on her hair. And when his thumb found the most sensitive area slick and waiting—rubbing it first too hard, then too soft, but finally, the perfect pressure—she very nearly lost it again. She restrained herself, by sheer force of will.

Breaking contact with him, she stumbled backwards onto the bed, pausing to admire the muscularity of his lithe body. She finally reached for him, pulling him down on top of her, begging him to enter her. She hadn't wanted to talk about the fact that a condom would be unnecessary, lest her thoughts drift in a more somber direction, so she guided him in without speaking. Certainly he had thought the same thing, as his expression flashed to one of concern, but he allowed her nonetheless. His size surprised her—it was a tight, pleasurable fit—so his entrance alone made her cry out. When he pushed himself fully in, pressing on that most stimulating region deep within her, she knew she wouldn't last long. Within a few strokes, she was crying out his and God's name interchangeably, and within a few more, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

When she had come down from her pinnacle, she realized he was kissing her everywhere his lips could reach, quickening his strokes until they became irregular and jagged, and she was cradling his head in her arms, and he was moaning "Scully… Scully…" over and over again. And when she pulled his body against hers, trapping the sweat of sex, and rolled them over so she was lying on top of him, she closed her eyes and let exhaustion take her.

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><p><strong>8:53 PM<strong>

Consciousness and sleep oscillated in his mind leisurely, like the sun and clouds overhead did on a hazy summer day—neither ever quite displacing the other—until the pressure of a small foot gliding across his calf tipped the scale in favor of wakefulness. He hadn't been asleep long or deep enough to dream, but his sleep-addled mind had him almost convinced that the evening's events had been. The contrary presented itself instead. A petite, warm body was pressed against him, tangling him in sheets that were not his own, with graceful fingers playing silent melodies along the side of his hip. Without opening his eyes and exchanging words, he would not be completely convinced that it wasn't still mental trickery. As the toe on his calf meandered an irregular pattern to his ankle, a pleasured hum reverberated from deep in his throat as the corners of his mouth raised in response to irrepressible contentment. He was finding it harder to refute the accumulating evidence that he was, in fact, not dreaming at all.

"Hey sleepyhead." Another piece of evidence. It—well, clearly _she_—talks. He could feel the grin radiating from her face, though he still hadn't opened his eyes to verify. He responded with another deep hum.

He commanded his lethargic hand, that had been at rest just below the small of said petite body's back, to travel languidly upwards, earning him the reward of a little puff of air from her lips. When his fingers reached their destination, they captured another item of proof—a mane of chin-length, silken hair, mussed now by whatever events did or did not occur.

_Scientific Method, wasn't that what she always preached? Okay, let's try this. Hypothesis: I just slept with my best friend and FBI partner of nearly seven years. Evidence: I distinctly remember driving to her apartment this evening and eating dinner with her; I am currently in a bed, but not in my waterbed at home which supports the sub-claim that I never left after dinner. Evidence: I am not wearing any clothes—self-explanatory. Evidence: There is a similarly unclothed, small, yet athletic female body lying practically on top of me; yes, those are definitely a pair of bare female parts pressed against my chest, lovely ones if memory serves. Tested and confirmed. Evidence: This female has her voice and her hair—confirmed experimentally. So we're missing a link. While we are certain that yes, my partner and I are, in fact, in bed naked together, we still have no proof of any kind of sexual act transpiring, other than my potentially faulty, yet vivid, memory. However, since we are not occupying a quarantine unit, research lab, hospital, forest, alleyway, spaceship, arctic tundra, giant mushroom…_

_That mushroom_. "Scully? If it turns out this is all my hallucination inside an enormous, LSD-slime-oozing mushroom, I at least hope you're having the same trip. And if we ever get out, that we do this for real."

She sputtered out a little chuckle before lifting her head to eye him incredulously. "You're still hung up on that mushroom?" She grabbed his hip and pinched a little. "I'm pretty convinced this is real, aren't you?"

He finally opened his eyes. "God, I hope so." Suddenly his arms enveloped her small form, pulling her head to his chest, wrapping around her as tight as he could without constricting her. _Well, this **feels** real_. "Hey Scully?"

"Hey Mulder?" Her muffled voice breathed onto his neck.

"Please tell me this wasn't a one-time thing."

She pulled away from his embrace just enough to lift her head to glower at him playfully while simultaneously pounding a fist into his side. "It better not be."

"Well, if this is the treatment I get…" He left the sentence unfinished, and put on his best mask of offense. This evidently delighted her, because she snickered into his ear and laid her head back to rest on his chest, like a puzzle piece finally finding its home. "I love hearing you laugh. You should do it more."

She exhaled a contented sigh. "Do you think after all this time, after all we've been through, that we might finally get a chance to be happy?"

"Mmm, but Scully—isn't happiness a choice? Maybe the real question is will we finally _let ourselves_ be happy?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he let the question drift languidly into her ear.

He had almost given up on getting a reply to his query, passing the time by rubbing her hair with his thumb, before she spoke carefully, "I want to believe we can."

"Then let's." He kissed the first part of her he could reach, the crown of her head. Then the next, her forehead. Then the next, the tip of her nose. And he held for a few long moments, hugging her body into his, rubbing her back with large hands.

"I'm up for another round, if you are," he finally spoke.

Her impish little laugh reverberated through his chest. "Well, that's the reason I woke you up." Her free hand migrated downward and grabbed a solid chunk of his ass.

"Whoa! Easy, woman." But it certainly worked. The growing bulge between them was becoming uncomfortable.

"Well, I've clearly woken _something_ up." She was staring at him now as she lay on top of him, bright eyes wide in the lamp light, with half of her full lower lip stuck under her ivory teeth, her mussed vermillion hair spilling onto his face and neck. For several long moments he gazed, making a mental catalog of the scene, hoping to never forget it.

"God, you're beautiful. I've always thought so," he admitted without remorse. The bashful smile she replied with reminded him of one of the reasons he was in love with this woman, an admission that he felt would need to wait.

"You're no eyesore either." She grinned before nuzzling her thin nose into his larger one.

Finally she broke out into a contagious giggle. His quizzical expression reflected back at him in her sapphire eyes before she clarified. "It's just funny. How long we waited to do this. How nervous I always was about you finding out I thought of you this way. How all last year, I tried to act disinterested, even though I could barely contain myself some days. How much I wanted this to happen last year after you took me to play baseball." She laughed again and shook her head in disbelief. "I guess I was a bag of mixed signals."

He knew that night on the baseball diamond was special, that the chemistry between them was at an all-time high, that holding her that close made it damn-near impossible to focus on the ball, that he wanted to turn her around in his arms and kiss her right there, but that ultimately, he didn't. "Shit. I guess I blew it that night." He removed his arms from her back and reached his hands to cup her jaw. "Well, the past is in the past, and we're here now, and there's a little something that's needy right now."

She chuckled again. This woman's laughter was going to be the end of him. She raised one of her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth at him. "A _little_ something, Mulder?"

"If that's supposed to be a compliment, I'll take it."

Without another word, he pulled her lips to his, reveling in the way they kissed him back fiercely, as if by doing so, they might gain back some of the time they'd spent apart. Recalling some of his earlier explorations, his right hand raked through her hair to her scalp, as his fingers grasped the fine copper strands and pulled gently. She gave a muted moan in response, and when his other hand reached her firm and shapely posterior and squeezed, the slight moan became a forceful gasp.

Soon, her fingers were in his hair and her lips and tongue were exploring the most sensitive part of his neck. And when she reached his earlobe, she flicked it with her tongue before her teeth began nibbling on it. The deep moan that escaped his lungs couldn't be withheld, and when her fingers reached between them to stroke him, another throaty rumble presented itself. Her nimble fingers tickled him intensely below, touching every part she could reach, until he couldn't take any more of her teasing.

When he tried halfheartedly to roll them over so he was on top of her, her athletic legs held fast, blocking his movement. _She wants to be on top. Okay, boss, you lead the way._ She pulled her upper body up from his chest, locking his hips in place, and giving him a direct view of her midsized, perfectly shaped breasts and her strong abdomen, leading down to a little puff of red-blonde hair where it met his own darker cluster. The image alone pushed him a little closer to climax, but he knew it would take longer this second time—surely to her liking.

Before long, she had pressed onto him, gasping a little louder with every stroke she made. His hands quickly found something with which to occupy themselves: one gently squeezing the nipple of her left breast, the other rubbing the spot between them, eliciting a sharp gasp an impish grin. When her strokes became quicker, propelling themselves by momentum and forceful thighs, she was gasping and moaning, and he was climbing and breathless. Despite the overwhelming urge to release, he found the willpower to sustain the inevitable until her cries and tremors and fingernails digging into his flesh allowed him. And when he did, he sat up so that he could hold her in his arms and bury his face in her hair.

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><p><strong>10:10 PM<strong>

After a quick clean-up, they were back in bed, he only in his boxers, her in panties and an oversized T-shirt. She always kept an extra new toothbrush, so she let him have it, figuring she may as well keep it here for him. She shirked some of her usual evening routine, forgoing the face mask and extra creams for just a quick face scrub and a dab of moisturizer. She didn't feel self-conscious about him seeing her sans-makeup; he'd seen her in far worse conditions. He'd even said as she was washing that he didn't think she needed makeup. It was a sweet sentiment, but one which not everyone in the professional world would agree on.

She couldn't keep from smiling as he flipped off the lamp, pulled the blanket around them, and curled up behind her, finally wishing her goodnight and sweet dreams.


End file.
